


Monster Within

by Katra21



Series: One Year [2]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Beetlejuice is a Prick, Curses, Gen, Loss, Lydia is Emo, Manipulation, Movie to Show Timeline, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katra21/pseuds/Katra21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia is an emotional wreck after the exorcism of Barbara and Adam. She doesn't know what to do with herself, let alone with the twisted soul of Betelgeuse, which she now owns.</p>
<p>Maybe the danger has passed, but Lydia is nowhere near the road to recovery.</p>
<p>The clock is counting down to the day that Betelgeuse and Lydia will celebrate as friends the messed up day that they met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hollow

**321 Days. (October 24, Monday)  
[Winter River Motel]**

The alarm clock buzzed. Why was the alarm clock buzzing? Lydia groaned.  _Mrow?_  The black cat shoved itself under her nose obtrusively.

"Alright Percy, alright," she pushed Percy away and turned off the alarm clock.

Mrow! Percy cried more urgently shoving himself under her arm.

"I know, Percy," Lydia shoved the cat away again and sat up. As she stood Percy jumped from the bed and incessantly threw himself against her shins purring loudly. Luckily black hair wouldn't show up on black clothes. "Okay," Lydia scooped cat food from a bag and poured it rattling into the tin dish on the floor. Now Percy was too preoccupied to bug her as she flopped face first back into the pillow.

. . .

"It's Monday isn't it," Lydia said aloud, standing back up, " Today was the day her family was moving back into the house, more accurately Charles was dropping everything back at home before driving Delia across state to a health and wellness retreat in Rhode Island.

Practically dragging herself into the bathroom Lydia stared into the cracked motel mirror. She looked awful. She felt awful.

Lydia almost regretted calling the Winter River Police Department. Life would've been so much easier if she had just forced Betelgeuse to clean up the aftermath before leaving. Police called it a murder suicide, if it had happened in New York she wouldn't have been out of the house for twenty four hours. She wouldn't have been crammed into a sleazy motel room for more than a week, with nothing to do other than watch motel porn, read legal documents, or wallow in self-pity after losing the two greatest friends she had ever had.

Of course she couldn't tell anyone about that, her total reasoning behind the gunman's apparent suicide was convincing the man that there was no such thing as ghosts. Adam and Barbara Maitland would never be recognized by the world, unless Lydia got around to writing memoirs. Unlikely as right now the only thing she wanted to write was a suicide note, she'd been working on one but the motel pen had run out of ink even before she'd run out of the cheap notepad the motel provided.

It wasn't long until she had run out of reading material too. The details of Betelgeuse's curse weren't exactly riveting, but she understood the content well enough. Strangely enough, the ability to understand nearly every instruction manual that she put her eyes to was one of her less unusual talents. Although she was probably the only girl her age who could fix a car after spending an afternoon in a room of manuals while her father haggled over price.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she tried to use her minimal supply of make-up to cover the bags of restless nights. Ten minutes to grab essentials as not conducive to appearing normal, her eyes were naturally deep; she usually wore makeup to look  _less_ goth.

Lydia wanted her folder of suicide notes. She wanted her sketchbook of horrors. She wanted her camera, her bugs. She'd left her identity somewhere else, and aside from police interviews she'd essentially been isolated for the past week. Not the best conditions for a frequently suicidal teenager.

"Lydia, honey, time to go," Charles knocked. Lydia groaned and opened the door, Percy immediately dashed out. "If you need another minute," her father looked at her sympathetically.

"Nope, let's go," Lydia said, grabbing her suitcase. More than anything, she just wanted to go home, Percy quickly jumping into the car next to her. Her parents thought it was weird, keeping the pet of the gunman that had invaded their home, but Lydia didn't think so. The cat was hers even as she let the feisty fellow out of the trunk of her now dead assailant, Gregory Wilson.

**[The Neitherworld]**

"Hoo-boy," Betelgeuse drummed his fingers on the counter as the cashier suggested different gift baskets. "You see I think he'd like the homicidal maniac special, but I don't want to give him the wrong sort of encouragement. I was thinking more along the lines of 'Welcome to hell, stupid'."

"We have the newcomer's gift basket."

"Naw, that old thing would just bore him… what's that one?"

"That's the lost soul's basket, special for those who've just gotten out of the lost souls room."

"Ooo, I'll take that one."

"Did your friend just get out of the lost soul's room?"

"No, he just sent a couple of ghosts there, probably more but I really only wanna rub in the two."

"Your total comes to thirty three oh two."

Betelgeuse pulled open his wallet, revealing a small web and the he-spider building it; save that guy for later. "Oh my gosh, is that Boris To'Death?" Betelgeuse gasped.

"Where?" the cashier plastered himself over the window and Betelgeuse quietly snagged a bill from the open register.

"Oh, sorry, I guess I'm crazy, could you break a hundred?"

"Sure thing, your change is sixty six ninety eight."

"Thanks, that includes the delivery right?"

"Of course."

Betelgeuse merely smiled, stuffing the much less empty wallet back into his pocket as he left the store. "It is just too easy sometimes." Now that that was taken care of Betelgeuse had to wonder what a free-spirited spirit with no obligation to king or country was to do with his free time. He'd already tried to get back to Lydia Deetz, about a dozen times, but it seemed like the little snippet had already screwed him with her newfound influence. It wasn't comforting having someone else own his soul, not that he hadn't sold his soul a dozen times already, just that those contracts had convenient little loopholes. Writing them himself made it easier but Betelgeuse was pretty good at spotting loopholes. Spotting one within only three pages of his own curse paperwork wasn't a motivator for reading the other two thousand pages. His brain might've exploded if he tried reading it all anyway.

Passing by an electronics store, Betelgeuse's eye were caught by a commercial, some demented digital jack-in-the-box spouting about the latest deals. It was the kind of thing that with some dumb luck, and it would be dumb, there'd be a million more commercials like that, the Neitherworld had odd copyright laws. Still the offers were what caught the ghost's attention, a special on spray paint, minor vandalism seemed like a good start to a celebration of his newfound semi freedom. Sounded like some of the best fun to have without the aid of his juice, being currently banished.

Lydia sure wasn't gonna care what he did.

**[The Deetz** **/Maitland** **Household]**

Lydia opened the door and stepped inside. She'd been so eager to get back home, now that she was it just felt so… wrong. Stumbling slightly Lydia put her hand on the wall, doubling over slightly. Her own home shouldn't have been a punch to the gut. "Take the day off sweetie, I'll be back this evening," Charles kissed her forehead before he left; left Lydia alone in that house that was no longer her home. When Lydia had first moved into the house months ago she could feel the otherness that seemed to leak from the walls. Even when the Maitlands had been away for all the renovations the house sort of hummed. The walls had held the essence of the Maitlands, now it was gone…

Maybe it had something to do with their functional parameters, but Lydia drifted through the house unconsciously searching for some hint of the Maitlands. Eventually her search led her to the attic, even the room that was always the most like the Maitlands was wrong. Everything had been sanitized somehow; even the lingering chill was gone. Gone forever, a tear that Lydia hadn't noticed forming dripped into her mouth, salting her tongue. Lydia's pain filled gasp sounded more like a hiccup as she turned and ran from the attic back to her own room.

"Dammit," Lydia squeaked. Furiously she wiped her sleeve across her face before grabbing her book bag and tossing practically half her room inside. An hour ago she thought that coming home would help, that it would lessen the pit growing in her stomach. How naïve. Now all she could think about was escape. She couldn't stay there for a minute longer. Her last fragmented hope for Barbara and Adam was gone. The closest thing in her life to sane now was seven hours of droning lectures.

What a pathetic thing to cling to.

Lydia whipped off her simple black dress, quickly replacing the garment with the itchy uniforms of Miss Shannon's School for Girls. The farm community was archaically gendered after sixth grade, but Lydia wasn't in the mood to criticize values, she just needed something to keep her busy.

It didn't matter to Lydia that she was late, she rode down the hill without touching the brake for some sensation other than emptiness. She still had a long ride to debate how stupid and pathetic she was for expecting school to make her feel better. There was the painfully obvious fact that she had no friends. It would be impossible to avoid the other students. News travelled fast in small towns, and the news had a lot of time to travel. Would getting mauled by dozens of girls with a billion questions about the event be helpful in any way shape or form?

**[Miss Shannon's School for Girls]**

There was a notice in front the school, an artist's rendition of the school after renovations. First time Lydia had heard about plans to change the school, amazing what happens with a week spent between a motel and a police office.

At least it was break, all the classes would be shuffling and Lydia could choose an appropriately dark and gloomy back corner to wallow in. Still, something wasn't right, Lydia suddenly felt nervous after she locked up her bike. When she walked into the school everyone walked past her as if she wasn't there.

For a moment Lydia breathed in sharply, the Maitlands had told her how they had no idea that they were dead until Barbara had found the handbook… Lydia checked her bag, nothing new in there. "Hi," Lydia tried waving at a random student.

"Oh, hey," the girl replied, drifting away as Lydia sighed with relief.

Still, if she wasn't dead, why would all the students be so busy ignoring her? It could always be a rumour of some sort. Lydia headed to her locker.

"The new girl is so cool," Lydia whirled around, but she couldn't spot the speaker.

No way would anyone here call her cool, and if it had something to do with a rumour about her no way would everyone be ignoring her. But if it was a _new_  new student, that had to be it, it could easily explain her confusion. A new student would be more exciting to a horde of walking talking hormones.

Lydia grabbed the necessary text books and made her way down the hall. Getting to her next classroom and crawling into her back corner she sighed. It wasn't much but for the first time in a week she almost felt normal; or at least normal for her. Go figure class would be a half-decent cure for the missing Maitland blues.

Class wouldn't start for another ten minutes, so Lydia reached into her bag and pulled out a plain black folder. Suicide notes. Lydia always found them to be somewhat akin to poetry when written well. Usually the initial note was overly moody and filled with spelling mistakes, but Lydia rewrote and collected the ones she hadn't used, which so far had been all of them. Perhaps she would write one today, get out some of her angst even if she wouldn't act on it. The science lab had any number of colourful chemicals.

Lydia briefly looked over her works, and paused on the only letter she'd written in Winter River.

_I am utterly alone_ …

Funny, those words meant so little then as compared to now, but now she knew that suicide wouldn't make it any better.

"Dammit," Lydia squeaked crumpling over her desk. The hollow pit in her stomach was back, as though her five minutes of relief hadn't even happened.

Then there was a giggle; a disturbingly familiar giggle; an exceedingly obnoxious and haughty giggle. Even though she had little religious background and was extremely sceptical about the existence of anything even resembling a deity Lydia had once prayed she'd never have to hear that giggle again.

The chemicals from the science lab got suddenly much more attractive.

It didn't make sense. No Brewster would ever degrade themselves to Winter River Connecticut. The Brewster family was very high brow, their closest competitor was Maxie Dean, and they could probably get him to lick their boots. Maxie Dean was too good for this little hick town; it had taken a genuine haunting and a ghost enthusiastic wife to get him there for dinner.

"It's so hard to find good help around here," Clare Brewster said with a giggle as she examined her nails while entering. "I'm used to having so many friends, but this place is like so small, it's just impossible to find anyone who is even up to par with the people that I'm used to having distantly basking."

Lydia wanted to retch as her torturous childhood came back to her.

Clare had already surrounded herself with a small posse. In elementary Lydia used to call them the clones. Although it didn't look it yet, each would soon walk, talk and dress like Clare. The only partition in the group was a small girl hidden behind a stack of books, the homework dog. Clare picked one up around third grade, and apparently still wasn't in the habit of doing her own homework. Lydia remembered playing that role. Then just as the bell was ringing another girl walked in, with shame written all over her face, in ink. There was the target, the one girl that Clare kept specifically out of her clique to be teased. Lydia remembered playing that role too.

The teacher began roll call, and Lydia tried to put the blonde bimbo out of her head. Probably the only reason she forgot to stifle herself when the teacher called her name. She should have known better than to reply with both lifting her arm and calling aloud, "Here."

"Lydia Deetz?" Clare said in a sing song voice. Lydia knew now, announcing her presence audibly was not a smart move. "Oh my goodness, Lydia?" Clare did her best catwalk to Lydia's desk, "Can you imagine two big city girls like us meeting in a place like this?"

"I can honest say I didn't see it coming," Lydia dug her nails into her desk, anything to hold herself in place.

"Well Lydia, although I'm sure you're delighted by my presence."

"Yeah, I'm just thrilled to be around the most obtuse and vapid contamination of the human race," Lydia smiled crookedly.

"Yeah-hunh, but unfortunately for you, you're like, just not cool enough for me to hang around."

"Everything I've been living for… gone," Lydia barely whispered, yet somehow still paying attention to Clare.

"Don't worry, because you're an unpopular girl from the city instead of the hicks, I'll still let you talk to me," Clare said and skipped back to her seat.

Lydia smiled; hell she wanted to laugh.

The hollow feeling in her chest was gone.

It had been replaced with hate.

**[Chapter One: End]**


	2. Cast of Misfits

**320 Days. (October 25, Tuesday)  
[Bertha's House]**

Fragments of potato chips cascaded into the open magazine. Knobby knees kicked gangly legs back and forth gleefully in the fuzzy blue pyjama bottoms. Bertha licked her lips, as difficult as that was with beaver's teeth, to rescue as much of the salty carbs as she could. Squealing, the brunette lifted the magazine to her chest before rolling around on the bed. "Oh Kevin," her heartfelt sigh drifted through the air.

"Bertha-dear, time to get up!"

The girl could've hit the roof with how high she jumped. Her head spun to the clock before her getting out of bed included her leg getting tangled in the covers and causing her to take a face plant onto her floor. Bertha stumbled to her feet, took an awkward glance at her pyjamas, and then clamoured across the floor to her dresser. Drawers flew open and closed haphazardly. Clothes spilled over onto the hardwood. "I should've been up an hour ago," Bertha nearly whined, "How am I supposed to get ready on time?" Finally her wrinkled school uniform was pulled from her drawers and her pyjamas left carelessly on the floor.

Her feet pounded noisily as she made her way to the bathroom. She jiggled the handle, locked. Rhythmically annoyed tapping sounded until the door swung open. Bertha's older sister, a young lady with a face like an angel stepped out and looked at her oddly.

"What's with the drum roll?"

"Sorry Elizabeth, I was just-"

"Just being a spaz."

"Can I get past," came the soft cry of their youngest sister.

"Sure thing Natalie," Elizabeth said and the two elder sisters moved aside. Without another word Natalie had entered the bathroom and closed the door. A gentle moan came from Bertha, who would once again have to wait. Leaning into the wall, her foot once again tapping, Bertha anxiously started biting her nails, ruining yet another perfectly good nail polish.

Growing up the middle child sucked. Standing between her dainty sisters often made Bertha look and feel like some sort of inbred yuppie. She was awkward and gawky, and she knew it. Bertha had become her own group, isolating herself ever further. Of course her sister's didn't understand. They weren't social misfits.

Finally Natalie left the bathroom, Bertha dashing in past her with barely a glance. The makeup box crashed around Bertha's ankles. Her hairbrush stuck in a rather nasty knot. Her tooth brush down the side of the cabinet, into an ominous dark crevice between the sink and shower. Bertha looked up at herself, her eyes growing immensely sad. She leaned towards the mirror pressing her greasy forehead to its surface.

"Bertha!" she jumped again, it was her mother calling and not sounding very happy. Bertha pulled the brush from her hair, wincing, and frantically brushing out the tangles as best she could before dashing back across the hall to her bedroom.

Chip bags and magazines were shoved into the crevices of her school bag. She wildly flung her backpack on before heading out the door.

She came back a moment later to give a goodbye kiss to the poster on her door.

She came back another moment later to grab her school books and homework from the floor.

"Bertha!"

"Don't worry Mom!" Bertha called back as her big feet thundered down the stairs. Then her big feet got tangled, she tripped, and crashed the remaining half a staircase to the feet of her older and younger sisters.

"Bertha, I need to talk to you," her mother said. Bertha tried not to groan, but she had come to the realization that the potential of being late for school was not why she had been called.

**[Prudence's House]**

A child-like hand reached up to switch off a reading lamp. The petite girl looked even smaller in the large chair with the veritable tome open on her lamp. Closing the large book, she leaned into the cushion and closed her eyes. She could hear the gentle sizzle of food in the kitchen. She could hear the distant bird chirping. She could even make out the sweeping of the pendulum on the grandfather clock. It chimed, loudly, drowning out the subtleties of what could have been the perfect morning.

A dull rumbling nearly shook the house. The little red head placed her book back onto the study shelf and hurriedly exited into the hall. Four massive boys barrelled past her, she had only managed at the last second to press herself against the wall and thus avoid physical injury. Once she'd gone over a mental checklist confirming that she had escaped without having a heart attack she quietly drifted towards the kitchen.

"Prudence, it's time for breakfast, sweetie," came the soft coo of her mother's voice.

"Yes mom," Prudence replied softly as a football soaked over her head. Sports equipment at the table always made her nervous. Almost everything made her nervous, but it was a natural response after spending her entire life with sports equipment at the table.

Prudence cringed at the mile high stack of pancakes with heart shaped whorls of syrup. Once her mother was out of the room Prudence immediately began dispersing the gracious amount of pancakes among her perpetually voracious brothers until only two pancakes remained. These two she ate herself. Ignoring the bacon was a given, as the boys were beginning various challenges from growling to passing gas to see who would earn the next piece.

Obnoxiously loud boys who used the family's youngest as the butt of their crude jokes weren't exactly stimulating company. Prudence much preferred the study; her four older brothers barely noted its existence. Unfortunately, Prudence's over affectionate mother did, the big armchair contained a chocolate and a gushing motherly note.

With a sigh Prudence packed away both her "treats" and grabbed a rather large pile of sheets from the desk. Carefully she stuck her head back out into the hall, breakfast would be fully consumed at any moment. Right now Prudence had luck on her side, making use of the temporary repose to scamper to her bedroom. It was immaculate, although it was practically overflowing with everything that could qualify as girly. A multitude of stuffed toys lined shelves, dolls and doll accessories occupied much of the circumference of the room. Prudence barely touched them; the items she favoured were always kept just next to the bed, like her backpack.

Prudence retrieved her school uniform from her closet, perfectly pressed, with a plastic coating to repel dust. Once dressed, she began methodically packing her bag; everything was strategically placed to keep the bag as square as possible.

**[Lydia's House]**

Returning home after a week in a hotel room Lydia quickly found the best thing about being back, her own shampoo. There was nothing like a week of coconut scented sploodge to make a girl appreciate her citrus blossoms shampoo. Taking her morning shower was probably the best thing to happen in the last twenty four hours.

"Lydia, breakfast," her father called.

"Alright, I'll be right down," Lydia called back, rinsing the last suds from her skin before wrapping herself in a fluffy black bathrobe. Then about halfway down the stairs there was an odd little popping sound and a plume of black smoke trailed out from the kitchen. "Wow dad, Betty Crocker's got nothing on you," Lydia said in dry sarcastic tones as she entered the kitchen.

"Sorry pumpkin, these eggs really shouldn't be eaten," he sighed, putting the pan under the running water of the sink. Then the smoke detector started trilling loudly. "Oh crap, have some tea, I'll be right back."

Tea, the only consumable where Charles really excelled, he could track down the tea in a supermarket by smell. Lydia couldn't find a producer anywhere that matched one of his loose leaf homemade blends. Tea was the only reason that Charles was still allowed into the kitchen after the Maitlands were an accepted phenomena in the house. Barb and Adam thought than any type of tea was synonymous with Red Rose.

Though Lydia couldn't deny her father credit for trying, at the very least. He'd come to the country to escape the stress from work, but since Delia was out of commission he'd been doing his best to step up to the plate. He even got the stupid smoke detector to shut up.

Lydia sipped from her warm mug, the tea was surprisingly sweet. Not her father's usual, but it was always the style that Lydia had adored since childhood, when the grassier teas made her wrinkle her face in disgust. Lifting the lid of the pot Lydia found her proof, mint leaves, lemon skins and dried strawberries.

"You like it?"

"Yeah."

"Pumpkin, if you need to talk…"

"No, I'm good," Lydia said simply, "and I'd better get ready for school, I don't want to be late again."

"Late again, you went to school yesterday?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you might like another week off…"

"I'm fine, dad. I don't want to fall behind."

"Oh, okay," Charles said weakly as Lydia disappeared up the stairs.

It was a little late for talking. Lydia had needed him a week ago when she'd been bawling in the motel room, but Delia always came first, and Lydia had gotten used to bandaging her own mental scars.

She quickly changed into her uniform, before checking the state of her drying hair. Her hair always had a little extra playfulness to it when she dried it on the bike ride to school. It took a minute to shove the papers covered in violent red letters into the vanity drawer, before she grabbed her backpack and headed back downstairs.

"See you later," Lydia called as her hand wrapped around the doorknob.

"Wait," there were several crashing sounds, Charles came bowling towards the door, he held out a paper bag. "Lunch," he gasped, winded.

"That's great, dad," Lydia replied without reaching out to grab it.

"No, its okay, just some leftover pizza and an apple," Charles said reading into her fears.

"Thanks," Lydia forced a small smile and took the bag.

"Have fun at school," he called as she climbed onto her bike and pedalled away.

**[Miss Shannon's School for Girls]**

"Be careful with your little sister," Bertha said mockingly, echoing the lecture she had gotten. "Respect your big sister. What about them do they bother to be nice to me at all? No. You're so clumsy. You're so forgetful. You're so careless. Oh Bertha, you've wrinkled your uniform again, how many times do I have to tell you to hang it up in your closet and not leave it in your drawers."

Bertha drifted behind her two sisters until they reached the school yard and both of them took off in different directions leaving her alone. Bertha kicked a rock. Looking up, her gaze crossed the schoolyard; most of her class sat together, around the popular new girl, Clare Brewster.

It was a bold move, walking over towards them; Bertha could feel the butterflies starting to dance within her stomach… or were those hunger pangs? Inwardly Bertha cursed her metabolism and dropped her backpack off her shoulder to retrieve some snacks. Crouching on the pavement as she dug through her bag, Bertha had no idea that the current placement of her legs didn't properly cover her under garments.

Sardonic snickers rose up from Clare's little clique, "Oh my gosh, if she only knew how stupid she looked."

"Here's your homework Clare," Prudence held the sheet up.

"And I'll get a hundred percent right?" Clare asked, snatching the sheet away.

"Yes," Prudence squeaked and scuttled off to distribute the rest.

Bertha's frantic bag searching stopped on one of her magazines. Specifically it was one that advertised "10 Steps to Popularity." She steadied her breathing, in for eight, out for eight, and then started quoting the steps like a mantra. Finally she packed her good luck charm away and headed for Clare's corner of the school yard, moving about as gracefully as a baby ostrich holding in a number one.

"What is she doing?" Clare asked, disgusted.

"Oh sorry, I was," Bertha fumbled for an apology.

Clare cut her off, "Who gave you permission to address me?" The cronies were moving; they blocked Bertha off from Clare and simultaneously surrounded the quickly defenceless geek much like a pack of wolves. Bertha opened her mouth to speak again, but Clare cut her off before even a single syllable escaped. "I'll admit, I am radiant. It's hard to resist basking in my presence. However, that privilege is not something someone like  _you_  will ever receive."

Bertha backed away, the wolf pack moved in.

Lydia stopped her bicycle just off the property and gawked. Slowly her grip on the handles tightened with rage, Clare was ruining another life. Nostrils flared, Lydia pounded her foot into the pedal quickly gathering speed.

Bertha felt powerless. Although the insults were flying, she couldn't hear them, with the exception of the occasional word;  _ugly_ ,  _stupid_ ,  _awkward_ ,  _unattractive_ ,  _desperate_ ; everything that Bertha feared she was, spelled out by her peers.  _How could they know?_  There was only one way that they could know. It must have been true.

She was shaking, couldn't breathe; her stupid, ugly, knobby knees gave way. Crumpling to the pavement, with tears just barely bitten back by stupid ugly teeth, Bertha felt a light kick to her shin. Then there was a hard and swift kick to her ribs, which forced a gasp from her lungs. Her ball tightened, but there wasn't another physical attack. Lifting her head just in time to watch a bicycle as it barely missed her. Her gaze followed the pavement careening bike until a new shadow moved over her.

Sunlight streamed between the ebony hairs of a girl Bertha had only known by the name on roll call Lydia Deetz.

The petite red head squeaked.

Lydia stood there, hairs on end from the adrenaline rush. In her opinion, she had just pulled  _quite_  the stunt. Now, Clare and her pack of vicious teenage wolves were turning their attention back to Lydia. "Sorry I slipped," Lydia said sardonically tilting her head.

"You little liar," Clare practically spat.

"Oh, and what are you going to do about it Brewster?" Lydia knew what it was like to be used, back in the day she had been Clare's lackey. Now she had the experience of fighting for control with Delia, the power that Clare wielded was so apparent. "Your little goon squad doesn't scare me anymore Clare. It's really rather pathetic that you're still too _dumb_  to do your own math." Lydia felt pretty dumb for using the word dumb, but unfortunately when picking a fight she had to use words that Clare would understand.

"You little bitch," Clare sneered, "I don't need any sort of muscle to send you crying."

"Oh Clare if you would just stop using your muscles, I would cry for joy, I think everyone would be relieved, you need you muscles to do things like… talk."

"Now you're just asking for it," the bell interrupted Clare and she twitched angrily, "if you know what's good for you, you'll skip class today." Clare smiled darkly, Lydia shuddered on cue.

"See, she's always been weak," Clare assured her smattering of followers. The red head in the back took one last look towards the two, and gulped before scampering into the building.

"That was… awesome," Bertha looked up at Lydia, her green eyes practically sparkling.

Lydia shrunk, since when could Clare Brewster smile like that… like Betelgeuse…

**[The Neitherworld]**

Fuck, Betelgeuse was having a really great day. A little company really got Betelgeuse riled up. His bought of petty vandalism which now covered half the town became arson, theft, and kidnapping. Was it kidnapping? The pretty ghoul currently duck-taped to his arm was very willing when they first started. Amazing how adhesive ducks could be. After having a ball, laughing their tails off, and evading whatever pursuers she'd been trying to outrun when she bumped into him, she had the dumb idea to try and ditch him without even giving him her phone number.

He never would have called, but it just seemed damn impolite.

Now she stood there looking pretty, squirming like something else mind you, but all in all very attractive with her big brown eyes wide with fear. Seemed like the ideal time to make out. Betelgeuse didn't hesitate to tear the duck tape off her lips and press his lips against that of his little prize. And the fact that they were duck taped together made impossible for her to run away as he moved his free arm around her waist before snaking his tongue into her mouth.

Sharp pain, Betelgeuse recoiled and watched shocked as that dirty little vixen spat out the tip of his tongue. He didn't give her time to scream for help, he bent down and grabbed the chunk of severed dead flesh, reattached it and went right back to kissing her. He could already hear the police alarms in the distance. He released the lock he had on the ghoul's lips and wrapped her mouth with some fresh duck tape. "Hush up for a minute doll, daddy's working." She shrieked underneath the tape.

Technically the police couldn't do shit to him, but that didn't mean he was eager for them to end his playtime.

**[The Cafeteria]**

"Hiya Lydia!" Bertha called, running to Lydia's side enthusiastically.

"Hey… Bertha," Lydia replied, a little unsure how to react to the gawky brunette who had been following her unceasingly. Why exactly was a greeting necessary after they'd been apart for only about two minutes while going to their separate lockers before lunch? There was something to be said about different kinds of people; Bertha talked almost constantly about every little thing, mostly about boys. Lydia would appreciate the company and enthusiasm a bit more if Bertha was a little less like a whimpering puppy dog.

"-and that's why Kevin is the hottest name that was ever thought of," Bertha yammered on, Lydia hadn't quite heard how that had started out. She sat down at a table with more important stuff in mind, Clare had redirected her sights. Standing in the line of fire, it was probably not the smartest way to destroy the gunman's reputation. "I know this sounds weird… but we're friends, right Lydia?" Bertha asked quietly.

"Sure," Lydia replied. It brought a soft smirk to her face, not too long ago she would've begged for someone to count as a friend, and now she could really care less.

The petite red-head drifted by their table with curiously bright eyes, but then quickly scampered towards the table with her so called 'friends'.

"She thinks she's so smart," Clare glared across the room, "but she's not going to feel so smart once I'm done with her, you followed her to her locker, right Perdita?"

"Yes," Prudence squeaked even if Clare had gotten her name wrong. Being the smartest kid in class wasn't easy; it would be easier if she could raise her hand at every question, it would be easier if she could get the occasional one wrong. It was too easy to get singled out by someone like Clare.  _Keep your head down_ , Prudence mentally went over her personal creed,  _don't stand out and you'll survive until getting a scholarship out of here, just think of the scholarships_.

"She thinks just because she only wears black that she's some kind of psychic expert on the dead," Clare babbled. "My daddy heard the whole thing from his source in Maxie Dean's office, making up ghost stories to help her dad be less of a failure in the real estate business."

"That doesn't really make sense," Prudence said, mostly to herself.

"I don't pay you to contradict me Perdita."

Clare didn't pay Prudence at all, although the blonde was probably just vapid enough to believe that with time equally money her time was worth infinitely more than anyone else's. Although more likely she just wanted a witty comeback and failed epically. "At any rate, we're going to scare her right out of town; she'll piss herself when anyone mentions the word ghost. I don't want her around to mess up my Halloween party."

"What was that?" Lydia let her mouth fall open.

"The Halloween party? It's going to be awesome," Bertha restarted her rant, she couldn't hold it against Lydia, often losing track of things when food was in front of her. "It's going to be in the gym with the guys from Mr. Brandon's School for Boys, but it would probably be way creepy if you were organizing it instead of Clare."

"Clare is organizing a Halloween Party?"

"Yep."

Her favourite holiday, mangled by that stupid pampered Brewster, Lydia was shaking slightly. Not on her watch, she would ruin Clare's Halloween even if it was the last thing we did. However it wasn't something he could do alone, she would need help, "Hey Bertha, wanna come over after school?"

"Wow, that would be awesome," Bertha gushed happily, "we could give each other makeovers, and talk about boys."

"Sounds great," Lydia cut her off, grabbing her uneaten food and leaving the cafeteria briskly.

**[Chapter Two: End]**


	3. Mortal Enemies

****320 Days. (October 25, Tuesday)  
** ** **[Miss Shannon's School for Girls]**

"I'm going over to a friend's house," Bertha announced in front of her sisters, beaming, while Lydia stood a couple feet away repacking her backpack at her locker. Lydia stopped to glare at the note, though. The content wasn't particularly annoying, nor was the fact that Clare was sending her threatening notes, Lydia was perturbed by the angry red lettering that was disturbing similar to the hate notes that Lydia had hidden away at home. "So, you live at the old house on the hill right?" Bertha asked, stumbling over next to Lydia.

"Yeah," Lydia crushed the note in her hand, tossing it back into her locker. It was kind of nice that Lydia didn't have to talk very much; Bertha obediently followed her out of the school and to the bike racks talking enough for the both of them. In fact, Bertha talked non-stop on the way to Lydia's house, Lydia didn't hear half of it but it made a nice blanket of sound so she didn't have to think about anything.

"Is that really your house?" Bertha gawked at the Halloween decorations as they arrived at the property. She was almost as pale as Lydia as they walked past the sickeningly realistic corpses, "It really looks like a haunted house."

"Unfortunately looks aren't everything," Lydia scowled, and then stepped over to the scarecrow. Barbara had modelled the eyes, but Lydia didn't hesitate to pull the scarecrow from the earth.

"What are you doing?" Bertha asked, confused.

"Claire wants to mess with Halloween, I think we should show her how it's done," Lydia smiled wickedly, "Are you in?"

"I guess," Bertha replied softly.

"Great, pull out that skeleton," Lydia pointed Bertha to the unearthed coffin that had been modelled off of Adam's skeleton. Bertha obeyed, following Lydia to the door. "I'm home," Lydia called on instinct, normally it was Adam and Barbara that would have come to greet her.

"Welcome home Pumpki…" Charles came around the corner, but his typical nickname trailed off.

"Right, dad, this is my friend, Bertha, we're helping set up a Halloween party at the school."

"We are?" Bertha asked then got elbowed in the ribs. "Right… uh… planning committee… that's us," Bertha bumbled over the forced lies.

Lydia tried not to wince, not to give herself away, as her father stared at them incredulously, "That's great. Can I get you girls anything while you're working?"

"Tea please," Lydia smiled in relief, "and some cookies, or biscuits, or something. We'll have a regular old-fashioned tea-party, won't we Bertha."

"That sounds so cool," Bertha looked like she was about to cry.

"Just going to set up shop in the living room, thanks dad," Lydia drifted into the next room, with Bertha trailing behind.

"Whoa, neat model."

"Oh, ignore that, some piece of junk left behind by the last people who lived here, we're probably getting rid of it," Lydia walked past it without even a glance, her tone flat.

**319 Days. (October 26, Wednesday)  
** **[Miss Shannon's School for Girls]**

Lydia opened her locker and a little ghost cut out popped into her line of sight, "Aw, that's cute," Lydia smiled, "and way too smart for Claire, so who set you up little guy?" Lydia examined the cardboard mechanics for a moment before she put the "ghost" into her notebook. "Wonder if Claire will like my present as much as I like hers."

Just outside of class Lydia was rewarded with a shriek, and she smiled wickedly, entering the room and immediately receiving an angry glare from Claire. "Miss Shannon," Claire shot up from her seat as the headmistress entered the classroom, "Lydia Deetz put a human skull in my desk."

"Lydia?"

"Wow, that is the nicest thing you've ever said Claire," Lydia pretended to tear up, "I was just hoping it would be realistic enough to be included in your Halloween decorations for the school."

"Very thoughtful of you Lydia," Miss Shannon said, taking the skull from Claire, "I'll take it right to the box of decorations in the gym."

"That was  _not_  funny  _Lydia_ ," Claire said with her particularly nasal distain.

"Oh Claire, how could you think it was real? I need the real ones for reference," Lydia smiled darkly, watching Claire squirm at the implication she dropped.

"I don't what you're playing at Lydia, but it won't work," Claire shot back, albeit a little weakly.

Lydia headed to her seat, if she didn't let Claire get in the last word then they'd still be fighting when Ms. Shannon got back. Exposure was not what Lydia wanted right now, but she still whispered her come back to herself, "If you knew what I was playing at, you'd run."

**318 Days. (October 27, Thursday)  
** **[The Cafeteria]**

"We need data," Lydia sat facing Claire's group.

"What do you mean?" Bertha asked.

"Someone in that group is good, the scares are pathetic, but the rigging is better than anything Claire's capable of, almost professional level. If this were an opera we're talking phantom skill."

"It's probably Prudence," Bertha said, "she's smarter than anyone else I know, smarter than Miss Shannon even."

"Which one's Prudence?" Lydia asked darkly.

"There, short, redhead."

Lydia looked, and recognized the position at the end of the table, specially reserved for the homework dog. That was good; the girl was already on the fringes of Claire's circle. What Lydia had in mind would be much harder if Lydia was facing up against someone who Claire treated well. "I want her," Lydia said softly.

"Huh?" Bertha toned in confusion, a piece of her sandwich falling into her lap as her bite was halted.

"We need data," Claire watched Lydia; the goth was obviously conspiring something, "Priscilla!"

"What is it Claire?" Prudence lifted her head from a book. It was kind of sad that she was becoming accustomed to whatever name the blonde called when attempting to refer to her. Really, she was almost curious as to whether Claire did it to keep her aware of her less than fully accepted position in the group, or if Claire just forgot so easily. Both seemed about equally plausible.

"We need to pull off the ultimate scare, my Halloween party is next week, and Lydia is  _still_  bugging me. I don't know what I ever did to her."

"Implications made about her personal life might have been perceived as derogatory," probably because they were intended to be derogatory. They weren't very successful grammatically but, just like with Christmas gifts, it's the thought that counts.

"Whatever, the point is, she needs to get gone, and the school just lacks... atmosphere, we need to lure her somewhere else, somewhere unfamiliar and creepy."

"Well without deceased relatives, she would theoretically be unfamiliar with the cemetery but-"

"The cemetery, perfect."

"It is the quintessential location for ghost sightings, but Lydia might-"

"Are you questioning me?" Claire snapped.

"No, sorry," Prudence squeaked and hid back in her books.

**317 Days. (October 28, Friday)  
** **[Lydia's House]**

"Cereal and milk, hard to screw that up, isn't it pumpkin?" Charles Deetz announced proudly.

"Unless the milk is sour," Lydia smirked.

Charles paled and looked at the milk carton until he found the expiry date, "It's not sour."

Lydia sniggered and took a spoonful of the stuff. Apparently it could also be screwed up by preparing it too early, the cereal was total mush. Faking away her disgust, Lydia smiled and took another bite, watching her father visibly relax.

"You know honey, you've been really impressive this week," Charles smiled, "you've just been taking everything in stride."

"Thanks, dad," Lydia did her best not to sound sarcastic.

"Is your little friend coming over after school today?"

"In case you didn't notice, Bertha doesn't really count as small."

"I was just wondering if you wanted to invite her to stay for the weekend."

Lydia paused, "Seriously?"

"I'm going to drive out to Rhode Island for the weekend to see that your mother's settled in, I would feel better knowing that you weren't home alone."

This was the sort of moment where some small part of her wanted to tent her fingers and laugh maniacally; it wouldn't be very productive though. "That would be nice," Lydia took another bite of cereal mush, "Is it okay if it's more than just me and Bertha, though?"

"No wild parties, pumpkin."

"It's not like Bertha is the only girl I share lunch with," she lied, and rather smoothly, "I was hoping I could invite my friend Prudence over sometime soon too, she was busy this week."

"Well I guess that would be alright, we'll put on a three guest limit, how's that?"

"You're the best," Lydia smiled, burying more sarcasm. There was no chance of getting three people together. Bertha was as simple as asking, but Lydia didn't have time to focus on converting more than Prudence. Making friends wasn't really a priority, and there really wasn't anyone else who would be a good resource for reducing Claire into a pathetic mass of unpopularity.

**[Neitherworld]**

There's something about running from the police in the Neitherworld, things had a tendency to go downhill. It was some sort of conspiracy, Betelgeuse was almost certain that there was some manner of curse or spell that gave those escaping from the law bad luck. There was definitely something that made the duck tape loosen from the ghoul which required a zap of juice, which turned the ducks in quacking horde, which alerted the police of his location, which ended up with him holing up in some rat infested rubble that used to resemble an actual house. It might have been his own curse for all he knew, but he preferred to think on some government agency of witches fiddling with the hands of fate. At any rate, every time he had bad luck was when he was on the lamb after doing something illegal.

Even the contract that got him soul-leashed to Lydia Deetz was the result of him running from an exorcism.

Lydia Deetz, now that he'd thought of her once the thoughts of her permeated his mind. Stupid little goth girl. She was the last person he wanted to think about, he'd much rather think about the pretty thing duck taped to his arm. With her legs folded beneath her just so she looked like a proper high-class lady, he could almost picture her in an evening gown with a corset to make her breasts extra perky, big brown doe eyes glimmering in the light of a chandelier. Brown eyes like Lydia. No, he wanted to smack himself, not like Lydia, not like Lydia at all. Except that now he couldn't help but imagine that gown as black with glimmering details in blood red rubies, black hair gently curled. Except that the girl he kidnapped was a red-head. Fuck, he had to stop thinking about Lydia.

Only one sure-fire way to stop thinking, he ripped the duck tape from the ghoul's mouth and mashed his lips against hers. She struggled hopelessly against him and the tape. All it took was a shot of juice to make her struggling stop, leaning in she moaned softly and his tongue slipped past her lips. Now the duck tape was just in the way, but not much he could about that without releasing the hold of magic he had on her now. Making out was so much more pleasurable when the girl adjusted easily to the hand he traced down her backside. Despite the duck tape he could tell that her fingers made a struggling grasp at his pants, immediately calling to mind rather appropriately inappropriate images... of course they weren't of the ghoul grabbing at him.

Dammit, he did not want to think about Lydia Deetz, if anything Lydia Deetz was the last thing he wanted to think about. If having some soppy breather owning his soul wasn't bad enough she was interrupting his ever important 'me' time. It must have had something to do with his curse, with her owning his soul, because there was no chance in hell that any ghost spotting little waif could be such a distraction naturally. Betelgeuse growled at himself and pulled away from the ghoul, reaching for the duck tape that lashed the ghoul so awkwardly to his arm.

At first she was a little stunned, but she slowly regained her senses and realized what she had been doing. Betelgeuse swore at the now loudly quacking duck tape before he gave up on the tape and spun out of his jacket with ease. He flopped on the floor, and waited for the girl to get the picture… maybe the juice had addled her brain, "You're boring me doll, get outta here."

With a surprised squeak she ran off and Betelgeuse ruminated. He didn't have enough power to pop in a cigarette at present, not a good one anyway. Might've had some cigarettes in the pockets of his jacket, but the ghoul had left with that. Although getting what he wanted when he wanted it from his pockets was mostly blind luck, so if his conspiracy theories were correct, he probably didn't want to try.

"Attention, Betelgeuse," loudspeakers outside crackled, "this is the mayor. I suggest you come out with your hands up."

"Why would I want to come out?" Betelgeuse asked, although really he was only asking himself, the cops would tell him whatever they wanted to whenever they felt like it. "You guys can't do shit, I'm a legal resident of the land of the living." Of course it was only in the paper sense; he wasn't tied to the land of the living in any way that would really help him.

"Betelgeuse, in accordance with act thirty seven hundred thousand one hundred twenty nine of the dead senate, better known as the Hawthorne Act, your tally reaching well over a million points of offenses, you have been approved for uninhibited hauntings," the mayor said blandly.

Betelgeuse felt as though he'd gotten a Charlie horse in his entire body, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, although he didn't need to. After what seemed like an eternity his mind managed to reboot itself.

The Hawthorne Act was put in place to prevent the living from getting too close to revealing the secrets of the Neitherworld. A tally of supernatural interaction was made, and reviewed once a person accumulated a hundred points. Shadows in mirrors were enough to get most people reviewed at least once in a lifetime, but knowing secrets could make people dangerous. Uninhibited hauntings, usually they were performed by government agents, professional haunters to put their assigned breather into a nut house or to kill them in the attempt. If the breather had made enemies though, it wasn't a pretty death.

After they were dead most Hawthorne ghosts were destined for Neitherworld prison; or a job. Betelgeuse had been the later in his life, but the Hawthorne act hadn't been instituted until after he'd lived and died.

Against a dead guy, who was outside of normal Neitherworld law, like Betelgeuse was now, any ghost could do anything they wanted to him. There was good reason why Betelgeuse's tally was over a million. Betelgeuse couldn't count how many Neitherworlders would want him dead in a more permanent way. Now they could do it without any fear of government interference or retribution.

Even as it dawned on Betelgeuse how much trouble he was in, two pairs of spectral hands reached up through the floor boards and pulled him down.

**[Mr. Brandon's School for Boys]**

"Do we really have to be here?" Prudence squeaked as she trotted through the halls with a large box in her face. Boxes were dangerous, she couldn't see very well behind them, and from what she knew of boys she certainly didn't want to walk around the school with her senses in any way impaired.

"Yes we have to be here, how many time do I have to explain it?" Claire drawled, "we need to setup my ultimate revenge."

"I know, but, why did we have to come to the boy's school on the way?"

"Prunella," Claire suddenly turned, making Prudence fall over. "The boys school is closer to the graveyard where my ultimate revenge will take place."

Prudence sighed, "Right, sorry," even though it didn't make sense to actually go to Mr. Brandon's School when they were just bringing all the necessary supplies from Ms. Shannon's School. Going straight to the cemetery would be a more efficient use of time. Although, admittedly, Claire hadn't actually said what the master plan of ultimate revenge was exactly; at least not to Prudence. Prudence had just gotten a list of things to pick up from the various supply rooms at the beginning of class, and some Brewster-paid delivery guys had dropped off the rest. Actually some of it was some decent Halloween prop, fake spiders, fake blood, unfortunately what was really confusing Prudence was a large tube of white acrylic paint. She swallowed the lump in her throat before managing to squeak, "What's the paint for?"

"Everything will be perfect," Claire hissed, either oblivious to the question or ignoring it. "We've got the perfect location, the perfect ghost, the perfect bait."

"Bait?" Prudence squeaked in distress, she didn't like the sound of bait.

"That gimp Lydia has following her around," Claire clarified, possibly by accident since she actually acknowledged that Prudence had spoken.

Prudence felt guilty for being relieved that she wasn't the bait, she couldn't imagine what Bertha had in store for her. "So… um… what is my part exactly?" Prudence asked softly.

"I thought you knew Primrose," Claire smiled, a little too maniacally, and grabbed the white paint, "you're going to be my ghost."

**[Chapter Three: End]**


	4. Pathetic

****317 Days. (October 28, Friday)**  
[Miss Shannon's School for Girls]**

"You want me to sleep over?" Bertha's eyes practically sparkled with delight.

"My dad's idea, but we still have planning for the Halloween party so I figured kill two birds with one stone. It's too bad Prudence had to leave so early though, I was thinking of inviting her."

Bertha paused, taking in the information, although she couldn't quite string together the implications.

"Lydia Deetz to the office please, Lydia Deetz to the office," the loudspeakers blared.

"Huh," Lydia's eyes went to the nearest speaker briefly before she addressed Bertha, "I'll meet you out front?"

"Okay," Bertha smiled.

Lydia smiled back and turned away, her smile immediately disappearing for a scowl. It was most likely her father calling to cancel his trip and her sleepover. He seemed anxious when he'd suggested it, and now he was backing out like a little chicken shit. Lydia's fist tightened as she cussed in her head, everything was going so perfectly.

"Phone for you," the office receptionist handed Lydia the receiver.

Lydia plastered a fake smile across her face while in front of the receptionist, and put the phone to her ear, "Hello." Silence. "Hello?" Lydia tried again, but there was no reply. "Your phone doesn't seem to be working," Lydia looked at the receptionist, unable to hide a slight snarl of disdain.

With an indignant stare and a delayed response, the receptionist looked at the phone, "Looks like they hung up."

Lydia's snarl grew and she turned the whole phone towards herself, dialling home. Stupid receptionist probably hung up when she meant to put her father on hold. The phone rang, and rang, and rang.

"Hi," her father's voice echoed on the phone, "we're not home right now, but if you leave a message after the beep we'll get back to you."

Beep.

Lydia hung up, and glared at the phone, then at the receptionist, "My father didn't mention why he was calling?"

She raised an eyebrow, "It was a woman calling."

Lydia paused, if it wasn't her father… Who would call her here of all places? Suddenly her head was swimming with visions of car accidents and phone calls to next of kin. No. Lydia refused to believe that. Something about Delia maybe, it could even be Juno calling from the other side. "Can I wait here for a minute, to see if they call back?" Lydia knew her voice sounded hollow and empty.

"Take a seat," the receptionist grimaced, but Lydia didn't respond, just drifted towards a chair like a ghost.

Lydia felt like her head was swimming, her mind kept falling back to the worst scenario she could think of. Unfortunately with New York traffic and her own interest in death as resources it wasn't really a stretch for her imagination to piece together the most painful and gruesome ways to die behind a steering wheel.

"Miss Deetz? Is something wrong?" Miss Shannon stood over Lydia with concern on her face.

Lydia glanced at the clock, she'd been sitting there for fifteen minutes, if they were going to call back they probably would have done so already. "Nope, everything's fine," Lydia tried to smile, though her muscles didn't seem to respond like they normally did. She left the office and made a beeline for her locker, Bertha would be waiting… although if it was Lydia waiting then she would've left already.

A note fell from Lydia's locker, probably from Bertha. It was written in sparkly pink gel pen, including little hearts: We have your friend, and by the time you catch up she'll be buried alive. Clare.

Lydia's nostrils flared. How dare she? How dare that pompous little spray tan bimbo try to cut into her territory? That's what the phone call was about; and if she hadn't been so pathetic to fear for her family then she would've caught up to Bertha before Clare could get to her. Lydia stormed out of the school and to the bike racks.

**[Winter River Cemetery]**

Lydia was breathing hard when she pulled her bike up to the cemetery gate. She wasn't quite sure if it was because she rode her bike down here so hard or if it was because she felt so angry.

Bertha had probably followed after Clare like a lost puppy, stupid knobby-kneed traitor cared more about popularity than any sort of loyalty.

Then she heard it, the screams. If it was Bertha… good, the girl deserved to know what an idiot she was. But no, there was more than one voice, Lydia headed towards the sound as Clare's lackeys appeared over the hill running. They didn't stop, just raced past, something red speckling their clothing.

"Demon tree!" a cry of distress reached Lydia's ears.

"Ghost!"

"The tree is possessed!"

Lydia reached the peak of the hill, and spotted the tree, knobs and hollows made the perfect jack-o-lantern face, red liquid oozed from the mouth portion. Seeing it was like stumbling across road kill, it gave most people the willies but just made Lydia feel all warm and fuzzy. There was a soft squeak behind her, a Claire squeak. Lydia whirled, not taking any time to evaluate the prep curled against a tombstone. "Where's Bertha?" Lydia demanded.

"The tree ate her," Clare squeaked, before scampering around the tombstone and down the hill.

Lydia rolled her eyes, and scanned the area, not a single open grave, it was just another attempt at a prank. Bertha wasn't even here. Of course Bertha wouldn't just follow Clare after what that bitch had done. But this was more elaborate than most of Clare schemes and if Clare was a better actress and Lydia hadn't read the Handbook for the Recently Deceased, she actually might have bought it.

Ghosts only lingered around their gravesite during their funerals. Although the grave could be used to summon a ghost, the chance of it being a malevolent one with enough power to make a tree come alive wasn't very likely. Even then the ghost would be hesitant to actually kill someone, that was illegal, and the punishments were harsh.

That was when the tree moaned. It caught Lydia off guard, even though it was the softest and most pathetic moan she'd ever heard.

Lydia popped her head into the mouth of the tree, and noted the small white shape in the tree.

Prudence moaned again, or at least tried.

"Here, give me your hand," Lydia reached, and Prudence's petite hand returned the gesture.

Coated from head to foot in white paint, not a pretty picture, the only follower that Clare would do something like that to was the homework dog. Even if Lydia didn't already recognize her, "It's Prudence right?"

The red head, although it was currently white, nodded. She was softly shaking with tears streaming down her painted face. Lydia knew what this felt like, and temporarily buried her loathing for Clare with the sympathy for Prudence. Although it still left her uncertain what to say as the girl trembled under the weight of emotion. "I… I can't go home looking like this…" Prudence spoke first although so softly that Lydia nearly missed it.

"You can come to my house… I was going to invite you for a sleepover anyway."

"Really?" Prudence's blue eyes peered from behind thick frames.

"At least come over and clean up, you can call your parents from my place, since all this is sort of my fault. I mean, Clare wouldn't have done this to you if she wasn't trying to hurt me…"

"It's not your fault," Prudence said a decibel above her normal speaking voice before she shrank back, "thank you for helping me though."

"You rig up the locker spooks, right?" Lydia asked heading down the hill.

"I'm sorry…"

"No, they're cute; it'll take more than a cardboard Casper to faze me. I was actually impressed with the set up though. I know how hard it must be to get something through the locker grate and function properly."

"Oh… Thanks."

Lydia kicked up her bike and walked beside it so Prudence could keep pace. It was vastly different from walking next to Bertha, Prudence seemed rather more comfortable with silence, which only left Lydia free to ruminate. Clare had gotten a hundred times worse than the last time Lydia remembered playing these games of public shame. Although the homework dog would always bear the brunt of the grunt work, getting coated in paint… Lydia's grip on her bike tightened. This Halloween caper couldn't be something so pathetic. Clare's humiliation had to be completely merciless if the cycle was ever going to end. Lydia had the props, Prudence had the phantom style know-how, Bertha had… well that was assuming Bertha was still hanging around… she had the perky talkative attitude to keep herself and Prudence from wallowing in miserable silence.

**[Lydia's House]**

"Is that really your house?" Prudence squeaked as they headed up the hill.

Lydia chuckled, "That's funny, Bertha said exactly the same thing, of course I had a few more decorations up then, and Bertha didn't try to hide behind me."

"It really looks like a haunted house."

Again it was the same thing that Bertha had said, but Lydia didn't have the heart to answer. Then she spotted a gawky brunette sitting on her porch. "Speak of the devil. Hey Bertha, look at who I stumbled across," Lydia gestured toward the shaking blob of paint.

"Prudence?"

"Hi Bertha," Prudence squeaked, finally coming out from behind Lydia.

Lydia unlocked the door and let both her sleepover buddies in, "Where were you Bertha I was getting worried."

"Oh, Tabitha handed me your note," Bertha dug out the letter. There, written in sparkly pink gel pen: I have a quick errand to run, I'll catch up. Lydia. Lydia just smiled and pulled out her matching pink letter, and watched Bertha's eyes widen in dismay. "We were… tricked?"

"Bertha," Lydia clapped her hands on the taller girl's shoulders, smiling almost warmly, "I would write to you in my own blood before I even touch a sparkly pink gel pen." It didn't really matter that they were tricked, the scare was pathetic, and Lydia practically had Prudence handed to her on a silver platter.

"Come on Prudence, I know Adam left his paint thinner around here somewhere, we should get the paint out of your hair at least."

"Right," Prudence trailed after Lydia.

"Whose Adam?" Bertha asked.

Lydia flinched, but then thought about Clare and continued searching, "Nobody important." Her hand rested upon the paint thinner, "Here you go, let me grab you something to change into."

**[Lydia's Bedroom]**

With a slight gasp, Lydia closed the door behind her. Thankfully Bertha had stayed downstairs, because now Lydia was having what could probably best be described as a panic attack. She was shaking like a leaf, and breathing in short bursts to help hold back the tears that threatened to escape. She didn't want to think about the Maitlands. She couldn't think about the Maitlands, not without falling into a bleak hole. Clare, she could think about Clare, letting that pompous blonde's face permeate her mind until the hole of loss was a shallow pit overflowing with spite. She had a mission, to crush Clare in a pulp of pathetic unpopularity.

**[Living Room]**

"Pyjama party?" Lydia suggested throwing Bertha and Prudence each a black nightgown. Bertha's was actually one of Lydia's favourite, a full length nightgown on her reached to Bertha's knees, and what was just a loose black tee on Lydia hit Prudence around the knees. Lydia threw on her own knee length shirt, ditching her clothes with a wiggle from underneath it. Then she flopped onto the couch with a smile, "So, what're we talking about?"

"I was just telling Prudence how we wanted to make improvements to the Halloween party," the way Bertha said it sounded like they were helping Clare. Lydia smiled anyway, whatever got the job done.

"Clare doesn't really get 'scary'," Prudence admitted.

"Yeah, even just the stuff you've seen, people shooting themselves in the head, that must be waaay scarier than anything Clare could come up with," Bertha smiled, brushing paint from Prudence's hair.

Yeah people getting shot, one by a madman, and the other by… another madman. Lydia's eyes widened, Betelgeuse. Why hadn't she thought of him before? Now there was a ghost that knew how to scare people, he could reduce Clare to a blob of misery and self pity by just thinking about it.

Prudence inched behind Bertha. "Lydia, are you alright?" the lanky brunette managed.

"Huh? Oh yeah," Lydia tried to laugh off whatever face she had been making, she'd been certain she was just smiling. "I just remembered; a friend of mine was coming to town, I think I'll invite her over, if you guys don't mind."

"The more the merrier," Bertha half smiled. Prudence nodded slightly when Lydia looked her way but otherwise remained silent.

**[Neitherworld]**

Betelgeuse was being stared down by a couple ghosts, three skeletons, a zombie and a man who Betelgeuse was going to call as a werewolf. Based on the quality of their clothes, and the fact that he was sure if he'd seen any of them before Betelgeuse had them pegged as a sect of Neitherworld mafia. The thin chains that bound them to play by the rules just got Hawthorned. If he hadn't been throwing so much juice left and right on his mini crime spree, or if he wasn't presently banished he might have had a hope of fighting them off. Right now… zombies and ghosts maybe, but those skeletons looked tough, and he really had no chance of taking out the werewolf.

"This is gonna hurt isn't it?"

"Yep," the werewolf smiled hungrily, showing fangs. In the land of the living the werewolf powers were weak and sporadic, in the Neitherworld, not so much.

"Anhy lahst wirds," one of the skeletons spoke with a thick French accent, and his hand on the werewolf's shoulder singled him out as the leader in the group.

Betelgeuse's lip twitched upwards, a skeleton outranking a werewolf in a mafia style gang meant only one thing. "So which dirty necromancer do you fellas represent? I wanna know where my payback is going."

Now something flared up, in nearly the whole crew; fiery rage in everyone but the lead skeleton and the werewolf. Definitely necromancer run, but that could be anyone, as far as mob bosses went necromancers were the best at keeping their identities secret. "Yew'll find owt soon enough," the lead skeleton nodded to his compatriots who pulled out weaponry, clubs mostly, meant to knock him out, and the leader had a set of spectral chains. He was going to be captured.

The werewolf smiled, and swung his club. Betelgeuse flinched in anticipation of the impact.

Except that it didn't impact.

**[On the Porch]**

Lydia's mouth dropped open at the state that Betelgeuse appeared in. One of his legs was curled up close to his chest, almost as if it was in the fetal position, but his other leg remained relatively straight, and his arms were curled crisscrossed over his head. It was rather pathetic.

There was nothing except a strange tingling sensation and the surge of energy that indicated… no… it couldn't be. Slowly Betelgeuse unfurled, taking in the sunshine of the land of the living, only one person could call him here. Lydia. She was standing just a few feet away with her mouth hanging open in shock. Oh, right, the flinching. Betelgeuse straightened his posture and cleared his throat.

"I'm just- going to - pretend I didn't- see that," Lydia stumbled over the words, rather confused herself.

"'preciate it," Betelgeuse muttered almost too softly to hear. He quickly evaluated the situation, Lydia called him back. It couldn't have been more than a month's time on her side; it could have been less than that. She didn't appear to be in any immediate danger… actually she wasn't even properly dressed, a baggy black shirt that only went to about her knees. Damn she had a nice pair of legs. "Please tell me you're not wearing any panties under there," Betelgeuse smirked.

Lydia flushed, realizing her state of undress and threw one of the porch chairs at him. It was amazing how much power the waif thing had in her when properly motivated. "None of that! You're going to be around young girls and you're going to behave yourself," Lydia said ferociously.

Young girls? Betelgeuse raised an eyebrow in confusion. He would've raised it suggestively, but one porch chair to his head was plenty. Finally with a bit of energy to spare he zapped in his coat, taking some pleasure in the idea of how pissed the cops would be at having their evidence vanish. He settled into the very chair that Lydia had thrown at him, that'd tick her off, and pulled out a cigarette to wait for Lydia to give more of an explanation.

Instead Lydia batted the cigarette from his hand before retreating a few feet away. "None of that either."

"My smoke," Betelgeuse pouted, looking even more pathetic than he did when he'd first appeared.

"I own your soul," Lydia said darkly, with a look on her face that made Betelgeuse cringe although he wasn't entirely sure why. "I know how much weight  _that_  carries."

"Interesting, let's put  _that_ theory to the test," Betelgeuse said, with a snap of his fingers he summoned a "that". More accurate the four letters of "that" each about half a foot tall, then a little sort of lifting scale. The four letters bundled under the scale and started lifting.

"No games Betelgeuse," the way she said his name made him flinch, "you're going to do as you're told, understand?"

"You wanna make a deal babes?" Betelgeuse asked slyly, standing up he walked around his little experiment and watched her worm away. She was keeping him at a distance where she couldn't feel his energy, which was going to have to get a lot bigger since he was rapidly regaining the power normally quarantined by his curse. Already his own range of extrasensory perception had enveloped up to where Lydia stood, and he could feel the delightfully intoxicating living energy that leeched from her. It was nothing compared to what he'd feel at closer range, if he could just touch her.

"Deal implies that you get something in return, you'll just do as you're told." Betelgeuse scowled, but Lydia continued. "No smoking. No swearing. No perverted looks or comments. You  _do not touch me_ ," that one seemed to ring in his ears, "or my guests. You do not damage any of my property. And until I say otherwise you're only going to disguise yourself as a teenage girl, and politely join my slumber party."

"What the fuck? Are you  _that_  desperate for guests?"

"Swear in front of my friends and you'll be in the lost souls room faster than you can blink." Lydia snarled, apparently she was aware of how much power she could have over him. "Do you understand what I'm saying or do I have to write it all down?"

Now Betelgeuse recognized that face, it was the same dried up old hag expression that Juno wore when lecturing him. "I got it," he scowled, "now do you mind telling me why I'm here?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Lydia said and Betelgeuse's frown deepened. First she was making a face like Juno, now she was quoting Neitherworld mafia. What the fuck had happened to the sweetly cynical goth girl that had been left behind. "Teenage girl, front door."

"Sure thing babes."

"And don't call me babes," Lydia snipped, before disappearing back into the house.

There was a ding, and Betelgeuse whirled toward the panting letters, "Hmm… only about twenty pounds,  _that_ 's pretty pathetic."

**[Living Room]**

"My friend should be here any minute. And I brought cookies," Lydia spoke a little too quickly. That wasn't good, she was getting nervous now that Betelgeuse was in the picture. She put down the tray of cookies on the coffee table before sitting down on the couch. Prudence eyed her warily, so it was time to change the subject, "Looks like you're almost free of paint Prudence."

The red head nodded, and then sunk, "My uniform isn't," she softly moaned.

Paint thinner would make the dye run and ruin the clothes, but a sly smile slowly spread across Lydia's face, "No worries, I think I have just the right cleaner for it."

The doorbell rang. For a brief moment Lydia's stomach tightened with fear. "That must be her," Lydia forced herself to smile. She felt better as she approached the door, until she realized that she had found sensing Betelgeuse on the other side had been reassuring. The icy energy of the ghost… Lydia opened the door and twitched. Filth encrusted pigtails, tacky flaking lipstick, and a skirt but otherwise it was still very much Betelgeuse. "Come on in, let me introduce you," Lydia ground her teeth together, and led the way. "Bertha, Prudence, this is-"

"Betty," Betelgeuse smiled manaically.

**[Chapter Four: End]**

* * *


	5. On Purpose

**[Lydia's House]**

"Betty," the poltergeist answered at the slightest hint of hesitation in Lydia's voice. He hadn't intended to put much effort into this little ruse, tried to communicate that to Lydia with his appearance. Even his voice was nothing more than his normal gravelly tone in a higher pitch. Maybe it was a little too much, because she seemed to have trouble selling it. He'd stepped in almost instinctually, probably due to the long personal history in the con game.

He was smiling maniacally, Lydia could tell by the way that Prudence ducked behind Bertha for protection. Briefly distracted when Percy made a panicked break up the stairs, she was just trying to resist the urge to immediately send him away.

"Everyone's in black, I didn't know there was a dress code," Betelgeuse rasped, before reaching into his bag. Actually that was just his jacket, juiced up to look like a lady's purse. Even disguised he wanted his pockets, somewhere discreet to keep it low-key when he did things like juice a nightgown into existence. "I'm afraid I don't match," he pulled the black and white striped nightgown. He also didn't hesitate to start stripping off his clothes.

Prudence and Bertha turned red and turned.

"Bee- Betty, have some modesty," Lydia hissed venomously.

"Relax, it's nothing any of us haven't seen before," Betelgeuse waggled his eyebrows, just for Lydia, before flopping onto the floor and grabbing some cookies. "You can stop averting your virgin eyes, I'm done," he said to let Prudence and Bertha stop looking like fools.

Virgin eyes… Prudence was obviously tumbling that phrase around in her head.

"So… you like stripes?" Bertha attempted to start a conversation.

"It's only been my signature look for the past fifty seven years," he said, and began to pick a booger from his nose.

Lydia flinched, but then quickly forced herself to laugh, "Ha ha ha, heh, you'll have to forgive Betty's sense of humour, one time I told her she talked like a fifty year old man, and she just won't  _drop it_ ," Lydia shot Betelgeuse a glare.

"Actually I believe you said I talked like a forty-three year old man," he smiled his typical cheeky smile, made all the more disturbing by the bright pink shade of lipstick, smug as anything. Lydia shuddered, just slightly. "Are these homemade?" he asked and downed another cookie.

"No, store bought," Lydia's right eye had a delightful little twitch to it. She was rigid, almost like she feared the next cheap joke he would make. Much better than the stupid Juno face she'd been making earlier.

How was he supposed to not make stupid jokes when Lydia's expression alone was such a powerful motivator? "Are there plans for dinner, or are we just going to stay up late watching sappy movies with buckets of ice cream?"

Lydia shifted slightly, "I was going to call for pizza later."

"Oh, that'll go great with my mom's ambrosia salad," Betelgeuse lifted a large bowl from his bag, which was clearly too small for the dish. "It's an old family recipe."

"Whoa, that looks good," Bertha was practically drooling.

"How did that fit in your bag?" Prudence asked suspiciously.

"Deceptive thing isn't it? It's great for shoplifting."

Prudence and Bertha both paled.

Lydia forced a laugh, "Ah, good old New York humour, it's  _not funny_  around these parts."

"Speaking of the phone, I should call my mom," Prudence stood up and backed towards the kitchen. "If I don't then she'll probably get the police out looking for me."

"I'll call mine too, Elizabeth and Natalie disappeared before I could tell them where I was going," Bertha followed.

"You're doing this on purpose aren't you?" Lydia hissed at the poltergeist after Prudence and Bertha were outside of hearing distant.

"I gotta have a little fun, don't want me dying of boredom before I get the job done," he assumed there was a job, Lydia wouldn't call him over just to socialize.

"You're already dead. Behave," Lydia said darkly.

"I'm not a dog," his reply was nearly as dark. "And I don't make deals without knowing what I'm putting on the line."

"It's not a deal. You'll be exorcised."

"Everything's a deal, you're ponying up a lack of exorcism, so what the fuck do you want me to do?" Betelgeuse stood to be more menacing, although it likely wouldn't do a whole lot in his dame-faced getup.

"My mom says I can only stay tonight," Bertha moaned as she walked back into the

"Mine too," Prudence added softly, "church."

"Better make the night count then? So what're we doing first, pillow fight, truth or dare?" Betelgeuse smiled, he had all kinds of ideas to liven up a party. Mind you nearly all those ideas Lydia would probably noose him for.

"We were just talking about the upcoming Halloween party," Bertha said with a toothy grin.

"Halloween… party…" Betelgeuse almost dropped his high pitched tone there, although the childish glee in his voice covered it up. Lydia prepared for the worst, but surprisingly the ghost settled right back onto the floor.

"It's at our school this Monday," Bertha added.

"School?  **School?**  Schools can't throw a good Halloween party!" Betelgeuse protested.

"Which is why we're going to  _help_  out," Lydia added, for once satisfied by the maniacal grin that lit up the poltergeist's features, even if it did make her stomach churn. "Prudence, you were helping Clare with planning it, would you mind spilling the beans a little?"

It was unbelievable. After deliberately pushing buttons, Betelgeuse was actually behaving himself, not that Lydia couldn't see the twisted little gears turning away in his head; he'd gone to the trouble of making the back of his head turn invisible. Lydia resisted the urge to hurt him, since he was sitting facing Bertha and Prudence they weren't privy to his little jokes. Technically that was more like following the spirit of the law rather the letter of the law, but for tonight it was close enough. For the most part, the ghost was actually focussed. He asked pertinent questions, some that even Lydia didn't think of. Prudence rattled off the timing, chaperones, everything down to the fabric that the haunted maze was made with, and strangely enough Lydia didn't doubt that Betelgeuse somehow filed every little detail away in his head for future reference.

Eventually Clare's plan for Monday was sufficiently laid out for the ghost. "I think it's about time for pizza," he leaned back making eye contact with Lydia.

"Yeah, I'm starving," Bertha said, although she'd single-handedly polished off half the bowl of ambrosia.

"Any requests?"

"Extra cheese," Bertha said.

"No anchovies please," Prudence said softly.

"Beetles," Betelgeuse smiled at the three pale-faced looks that got thrown his way. "You three should see your faces, priceless."

Prudence was the first to lose it, her giggle was almost silent, but it sent a sort of spasm throughout her entire tiny body. Then Bertha joined with a laugh that sounded like a braying donkey. Lydia started laughing just because Prudence and Bertha looked and sounded so funny. Betelgeuse just smiled, pleased with his work.

When was the last time he'd done something like this… hanging out? Betelgeuse couldn't remember if he'd ever done anything quite like this. He'd partied, loud obnoxious music, boozing himself stupid enough to find a swamp monster attractive. Playing poker… that was reserved; every word spoken or not spoken was just an attempt to control the game. Neitherworld re-education he'd been a loser. Maybe when he was living, this was sort of like sleeping on the roof, staring at the stars with the dead. Yet somehow this was as simple as pizza and sodas.

Prudence's burp was small, and she seemed so ashamed. It was natural for the ghost with the most to let a good one rip. What he hadn't expected was that Bertha would show him up. And then somehow they were all laughing again… It strangely made Betelgeuse glad that he didn't overdo his disguise.

**[Lydia's Bedroom]**

Percy had to manoeuvre around four sets of feet when Lydia opened her bedroom door. "Where's Betty's sleeping bag?" Bertha asked easily as she and Prudence rolled out sleeping bags that Lydia had gotten from the extensive camping set that her father had bought and never used.

Betelgeuse was glaring into the terrarium where Lydia kept her favourite bugs. Right now it was home to a golden orb weaver named Nefertiti, a spider that Betelgeuse has seen up close and personal. "Betty," Lydia said firmly, catching his attention before she continued, "will be sleeping in the attic." Brown eyes were pointed at him sharply.

"Yep, love the attic, I always sleep in the attic," he said unenthusiastically.

"Come on, Betty, I'll see that you get settled in," Lydia called him away.

Betelgeuse grabbed his bag, casually resuming his normal appearance once they were out of sight. "Can't let the dirty old man stay in the same room…"

"You're just full of shit, aren't you?"

"When'd you figure that one out?"

"Never in the tank, huh? You were eyeing that spider like you had a personal vendetta."

"You're the one that put in the tank, if I feel it's in my best interest to eat her then you're responsible for it, not me," Betelgeuse replied, nonchalantly fixing his jacket back into its usual place.

"Did you get everything on the Halloween party?" Lydia whirled around, put her back against a wall, forcing Betelgeuse to stop.

"Ah, Halloween," Betelgeuse smiled nostalgia spreading across his features, "let me tell ya babes, you couldn't have picked a better time to call me over."

"I thought I told you not to call me that," Lydia stuck her index finger out at him.

"Psh, no one around but us, I thought chicks liked compliments," he stuffed his hands in his pockets, while Lydia unlocked the attic door.

"I happen to find it insulting, I have a name, use it," Lydia stepped into the attic. She hadn't touched the attic since the first day she'd gotten back home, and her discomfort level visibly rose as she stepped into the room and stared at a corner. "I didn't call you over because it was Halloween."

"What? You mean I sat through that brainstorming session and I don't even get to go!"

"Oh, you're going, but I don't care if the Halloween party bombs, so long as Clare Brewster goes down with the ship."

"Wait… this is a vengeance thing?"

"Yes," Lydia answered her voice taking on a darker tone.

"Huh," Betelgeuse scrutinized the teen, "never pegged ya for the vindictive type."

"Yeah well, there's never been someone who deserved it as much as Clare Brewster. She's an ignorant conniving bitch who uses popularity like a freakin' guillotine."

Betelgeuse just 'hmph'ed, waiting for further explanation. It was very unlikely that anyone beat him on the deserving to suffer list, but it was from Lydia's perspective rather than on the grand scale. Still, he could only imagine one other person who should be lower in her eyes than him.

"I want her completely and utterly humiliated before her stupid Halloween party can chase off the people that should be there to laugh at her. Crushed, and eaten, like you would with a bug."

Lydia made some messed up faces when she was pissed. Betelgeuse debated silently. Her folks were clearly batty, Chuck and the Trauma-Queen leaving the poor girl to fend for herself so soon after tragedy. Did they not realize that she was prone to suicidal thoughts with the kind of ghost sense she had going? Even if they didn't blame the ghost sense any parent would have to stupid not to realize that Lydia wasn't really the stable type. The Maitlands had clearly helped a lot with her stability, probably the reason she could do happy things like humming about homework. This Lydia, the vengeful Lydia, that was just the backlash of loss.

"The maze is pro'lly easiest," Betelgeuse gave the plan he'd thought of the moment a revenge scheme came up, "it'll flop pretty fast, then you lure her into a maze of proper horror. Everyone hears her screaming at something they know is about as scary as a chocolate chip cookie."

"Great, you're in charge of haunting the haunted maze, I'll get her in."

"Sounds like you've got the boring part."

"Not boring at all, I'll get hear her screaming," Lydia's smile made Betelgeuse twitch.

"Great… well, see you in the morning," he casually turned towards the room that the Maitlands had clearly been using.

"Hold on," Lydia said it so lightly that Betelgeuse wanted to groan for the crap he was going to have to put up with. She'd probably alter his curse somehow, glue him to the floor for the night so he wouldn't cause trouble, or send him to China so he couldn't bother her with the trouble he'd cause, or send him back to the Neitherworld. "How are you at getting paint out of clothes?" Lydia held up the paint drenched uniform.

"Pff, easy stuff," Betelgeuse snapped his fingers and the school uniform was clean. "Looks a little small for you Lydia, kinky."

"It's Prudence's uniform, so wipe that stupid look off your face."

"What look?" Betelgeuse threw his hands out innocently. Although there was also part of him that was immensely pleased that Lydia could identify his lecherous looks.

"Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse-"

"Whoa!" he panicked.

"What now?" Lydia glared at him.

"It might be better, if you didn't send me back," she looked at him sceptically. "I mean, do you know how little planning time I'll have on the other side," she wasn't impressed by that. "Plus, a proper haunting on the fly is gonna need some juice, you send me back and I'll have to recharge all over again."

"You just want to mess around while I'm not watching."

"Aw, come on, I've been good."

"You're not a dog," Lydia replied mockingly.

"You want this bitch to suffer right, why not get me at my best?" Lydia actually seemed to pause and consider this. That was frightening, "I swear you won't see me, hear me, smell me, or sense me."

"Yeah, how will I know you won't just go goofing off somewhere half way round the globe?"

"Being completely honest here, you won't."

"Goodnight, Betelgeuse."

Third strike, the ghost vanished from sight. Lydia sighed, and headed downstairs. Percy meowed pleasantly at her, rubbing against her ankles as he followed her back into her now ghost-free bedroom.

"Wasn't your cat white?" Prudence asked as she walked in.

"There's two cats actually," Lydia lied with ease.

**[Neitherworld]**

"Damn it Lydia!" Betelgeuse punted a nearby can. Fortunately he'd been able to pull the banishment away from the underground tunnel. He'd managed to park his banishment right in front of one of his favourite shocking malls, such lax security. Eight hours, presumably, for the teenage girls to sleep, that gave him at least an hour on this side to pick up some props to supplement his juice.

Those mafia-type suckers were probably still wondering where he had vanished to. It made him chuckle as he grabbed a cart. Of course there was the question of why some unknown goons had come to grab him in the first place. With skeletons in charge of the brute squad, that meant that a necromancer was their boss, or at least in the upper echelon. Betelgeuse kept the general rule of staying as far away from necromancers as possible. If he'd stepped on someone's toes he'd have done it on purpose and he'd certainly remember when and why.

That meant the most likely reason was recruiters, there were four ways a necromancer could try to control him. Pegging him to a skeleton or a cadaver would just waste time. Absorbing him, that would drive the necromancer round the bend, he couldn't imagine any necromancer in the Neitherworld would be that stupid. They could curse him, or at least try, anything weaker than the curse he already had on him would slide off like water on duck feathers. Or they could try to make a bargain for his soul, which was owned by Lydia, and therefore totally impossible. Though, knowing Juno, she was probably the only ghost that knew his soul was owned by a breather.

"Ooo, fog machines," Betelgeuse pawed the boxes, checking the specifications. Good dispersal, low noise, and toxic smoke. Betelgeuse tossed that one aside and grabbed the next brand over. Reasonable dispersal, ambient tracks, intangible smoke, which made it non-toxic to breathers, and the smoke came in three different colours. With a smile he tossed one in his cart, and moved along. "Shadow lights," he tossed a half dozen of the light fixtures in his cart.

Drifting through the shopping aisles picking up basics, blood, medieval weaponry, gave the ghost time to think. He didn't like thinking, he usually functioned better on autopilot, but Lydia had… unnerved him.

Summoning him back for revenge on the popular girl, it sure didn't sound like the Lydia he knew. Lydia was more self-sacrificing than that, she was the one who stood in the line of fire for her family, or for the ghosts she barely knew. She'd stood in the line of fire for bullets, and for creepy ghosts with marriage proposals, it didn't make sense for her to draw the line at some teenage girls vying for popularity. Losing the Maitlands had really fucked with her head.

But what had fucked with his head? Betelgeuse stopped in the middle of an aisle and put his palm to his forehead. He'd thought about Lydia when he should have been thinking about a spicy red-head. He'd sat through a night with a bunch of dorky teenage girls, and revelled in the fact that his tamest antics had made Lydia smile. Fuck, he'd said forty-three. He'd told Lydia how old he was when he died. He hadn't given anyone more than his name for nearly his entire afterlife. Now he was standing around a mall and freaking out about whether or not she was going to be okay.

"CADAVERS!" he forced the subject to change, riding the cart every few steps until he found the right aisle. "Can't haunt anywhere without a couple unoccupied corpses," he leaned into a large bin that advertised teenagers. Most ghosts had no idea that their bodies ended up in the Neitherworld if they were cremated in the land of the living, or at least preferred not to think about it. But there was a surprising amount of demand for the sacks of flesh. Necromancers needed them for zombies, and all kinds of Neitherworld critters found humans tasty.

"Hello there…" Betelgeuse lifted a reasonably mutilated body from the bin, "…David Wilkes. Let's see, you died in a car collision with a drunk driver, that's perfect." David Wilkes was put into the cart at an odd angle, and Betelgeuse lifted another one. "Emily Burrows, raped and murdered," she was placed back in the bin, "yeah, I don't think that's the impression I wanna leave if you get accidentally left behind… Angela Dausset, you died of a gunshot wound, school shooting, glad to have you on the team," he tossed her body into the practically overflowing cart of goodies. "Now all I need is a doggy bag."

Betelgeuse whistled innocently as he placed the panting bag alone onto the checkout counter. Everything else was already packed away neatly inside, so long as the cashier didn't look inside… no such luck, she unzipped the doggy bag, and began scanning the contents one by one. Boredom began to set in, Betelgeuse picked up some sort of snack bar and began to read the label. The cashier's hands were shaking and she wasn't making any eye contact, cute, jumpy, too hard to resist. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were scared of me," he waggled an eyebrow, but the jump and shameful stare at her shoes that he got in response. That wasn't the shy kind of nervous, that was the 'please don't notice me until the cops show up' nervous, "Ah, toots, say it ain't so."

That was when he began to be able to make out the sirens. "If they were trying to sneak up on me then they really should have left the sirens off." At least these ones weren't the kind meant to lull sailors to their death. Turning back to the counter he noticed that the cashier had mysteriously disappeared, leaving his haunted maze supplies scattered. With a groan he scooped his shopping into the doggy bag, which was still happily panting away. It would be easier to get just the one thing out of his pockets when it was necessary. He turned towards the door, but then whirled back and grabbed the snack bar he'd been staring at, he needed some beetle-flavour to get the aftertaste of real food out of his mouth. It wasn't that food from the land of the living didn't taste good, but back in the Neitherworld it left a sort of dusty tasteless sensation. Breather food didn't belong here any more than breathers did.

"Betelgeuse!" the cops yelled through loudspeakers, "Come out with your hands up!" The cops stared disbelieving when Betelgeuse actually came out of the building of his own accord.

Normally he wouldn't either, except that he knew something they didn't. He knew that he had a date to keep with Lydia in a few more minutes. The cops didn't have enough jurisdictions to slap anything on him that a summoning couldn't get him out of. And certainly the cops were inclined to more peaceful tactics even if he had been Hawthorned, which was something that couldn't be said for the rest of the Neitherworld's populace. Should've figured that with his kind of luck, on the lamb, that such thoughts were just jinxing himself.

An ominous glow was coming around the sides of the building. The mob rounded the corner, full of spectres with obvious vendettas to settle. Running seemed to be the best choice; he peeled out there faster than the cops realized what was going on. Which was good, it meant less people were shooting at him.

What was bad was that it had armed one very hostile member of the mob with projectiles... A crumpled up police car very narrowly missed Betelgeuse's head.

**[Chapter Five: End]**


	6. Monsters

**314 Days. (October 31, Monday)**

**[Mr. Brandon's School for Boys]**

Lydia walked into the gym, actually wearing something from her normal wardrobe. The black velvet dress she wore barely brushed the ground, high collar but with lace sleeves to let in the cool evening air. What wasn't in her normal wardrobe was the pointy hat, the oversized pentagram necklace and the old fashioned straw broom. The hat was a quick sewing job. The necklace was actually a candleholder. And the straw broom was a relic she found hidden in a cobwebbed corner of the basement. She'd taken quite a few pictures of that corner when she'd first found it, and the pictures turned out deliciously gothic.

Now that Lydia was in the gym she could do little more than sigh at the pathetic display of Halloween spirit, and wonder why she had forked over five bucks to be there. Halloween theme treats should not include basic gummy worms. Face painting was only a Halloween activity for elementary school kids. Monster Mash on repeat did not make a Halloween soundtrack. The lights weren't even turned down for crying out loud, there were scarier Halloween parties at retirement facilities _, for people with heart problems_.

Lydia scowled as she spotted Claire.  _That_ was the reason she forked over money for this lame event. The blonde was in a less than modest cheerleader outfit standing in front of the haunted curtain maze. It was pretty obvious why Claire and her goon squad were here, to dress like whores and flirt with boys.

Discreetly Lydia slipped from the main gym floor to a corridor of offices that went behind the stage. "Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse," she said casually.

Betelgeuse popped into the room at a dead run, passing through the wall. For a moment Lydia was rigid in shock, before the ghost floated back into the dimly lit office almost sheepishly, "Could you jus' pretend you didn' see that?"

"Will I have to block out the memory of every time I summon you?" Lydia groaned. If he'd passed through the wall to the gym rather than an outside wall she'd have given him a piece of her mind rather than an awkward attempt at conversation.

Betelgeuse pondered for a moment, he was Hawthorned, and there was also the possibility of various fate-fiddling done by government witches, "Most likely." The flat-eyed sardonic look in Lydia's eyes demanded an explanation that would take way too long. "So which way's the party?"

With a grunt Lydia pointed her thumb towards the wall. "Betelgeuse," she gasped when the poltergeist stuck his head through the wall, but she promptly pulled him back.

"Relax babes," Betelgeuse smiled that maniacal smile that made Lydia shiver uncomfortably. "I'm not stupid enough to do that on this side when I'm visible. Just 'cause it makes no difference to your pretty brown eyes don't mean you should take your ghost sense for granted."

Lydia flushed, first at the comment about her eyes, then in embarrassment at what she probably should've known, the room was at least five degrees warmer than it should've been and touching Betelgeuse had only sent a Maitland level rush of cold through her arms. Then finally she was flushed in anger, he was deliberately messing with her. "You- urgh!" Lydia groaned and buried her face in her hands.

Actually messing with Lydia was just a pleasant addition to Betelgeuse's true intents with that particular stunt. He'd noticed it before, thanks to Lydia latest additions on his curse, whenever he tried to move towards her it was bumping into an invisible wall, but  _she_  could reach out and make contact with him, he couldn't have written a better loophole himself. "So where's this 'Clare' that I'm supposed to whack?"

"Publicly humiliate, not whack."

"A'right a'right, but which one is she?" Betelgeuse asked sticking his head back through the wall.

With a groan Lydia stepped out into the gym and pointed with a nod of her head, "Dumb blonde, dressed like the cheerleader for Pepto-Bismol."

"A'right, later babes," Betelgeuse fully disappeared.

"Wait a second," Lydia flinched, and Betelgeuse turned visible again, this time standing calmly full into the gym.

"Just Clare, just scare, and after it's done with I'll meet you by the track field outside."

More rules, Betelgeuse wanted to groan, but instead let out a curt, "Got it," before disappearing fully and floating over to haunted maze.

Lydia took a solid breath before leaving the relative safety of the wall to start associating with her peers, specifically one peer who had the IQ of a glass of water.

The best view of the maze was from above, Betelgeuse floated over the "haunted" maze with a snarl of disgust. Half the curtains were purple. Not that purple couldn't look scary in the right circumstances, like on himself, but the maze couldn't pull off maniacal charm. The maze design was obviously for speed, turn a corner get a face full of monster cut-out, except that the cut-outs were way too lame. There was an uber-cute spider cut-out, a baby vampire cut-out, a bunny cut-out that made Betelgeuse question this "Clare" person's sanity, and three cut outs of the possibly leporiphobic bimbo herself. Clare seemed to be the most frightening of the bunch, and Betelgeuse spent a moment pondering whether or not she'd be scarier with or without makeup.

**[Just Outside the Haunted Maze]**

"What's the matter Claire are you chicken?" Lydia asked. Lydia felt stupid, everything she was saying was stupid, but behaving on par with Claire gave her the best chances of getting the ditzy blonde into the haunted house. It was business stupid… like Betelgeuse.

"Well we all know you're soo not," Clare replied, getting an appropriate ooo from her lackeys. Except that the demon-tree prank hadn't worked at all, so it was more of Clare just being stupid.

"Everyone knows that your haunted house sucks," Lydia said flatly. "It's only logical that the reason it sucks is because it would scare you."

"No it wouldn't," Claire retorted, pitifully, Lydia had been goading her for a while, her defence was crumbling.

"Well you could stand around all night, flapping your gums, or you can prove it," Lydia folded her arms expectantly. Her own logic, although it was by far the stupidest conversation she'd had in years, was winning.

"I don't need to prove it to a loser like you," Claire batted her lashes with a charming plastic smile.

"Yeah, you just keep on saying that, eventually everyone will figure out you're faking." Claire gasped, just a little.

Claire could hear the subtle whispers of her cronies, Lydia just looked on smugly. She had incited doubt, and now whatever choice Claire made, her reign would be, effectively, over. Claire turned, and with her nose high, stalked into the haunted house.

"Who does Lydia thinks she's fooling? I designed the haunted house; nothing in here can scare me." Claire paused sticking up her nose and started walking, trying not to wonder why it seemed like the curtain tunnels were getting darker. "Lydia's just a loser, she just wants to rile me up for that ghost tree prank." Claire assured herself, turning a corner where she thought the exit would have been. She blinked, "That's weird, I know this was the quickest way to the exit..."

Smoke curled along the floors, fog rose up, and it was getting darker by the minute. Betelgeuse followed Claire, remaining invisible, but making sure his footsteps were audible. Claire whirled around, her complexion losing its color. "Ugh, now I'm just being paranoid."

Paranoid, now that was good, that was weakness, Betelgeuse used his voice throwing skills for a few soft screams. Claire froze, no one but herself had entered the haunted house in fifteen minutes. No it was just the party, Claire stopped, she couldn't hear that either. Claire shook her head and started she'd reorient herself, somewhere in this area was a screaming cut out of herself, she'd find it and reach the exit by that method.

She turned the corner, where the cut out of herself had been, until Betelgeuse changed it, in its place now hung David Wilkes. Claire screamed.

"Like my work?" Betelgeuse asked, Claire turned to a horrific mutation of Betelgeuse's usual looks, covered in blood, he looked worse than the corpse he'd put up. Another scream and she started running. "Time for the real fun to begin," Betelgeuse smiled, moving another curtain, Claire was going to be in there for a long while.

Lydia stood by the haunted house exit, revelling in the screams and in the crowd that had gathered around. Several of them were whispering to each other worriedly, but the only sound that left the haunted maze was the sounds of Clare panicking. She'd have to give Betelgeuse kudos, it kept the other kids from doing anything stupid like bursting in to play hero.

"L-Lydia?" Bertha's voice cut into Lydia's revelling, and with a soft sigh, Lydia turned her gaze to the lanky brunette. Bertha had made the unfortunate choice of wearing a fairy costume, the fluffy skirt rode too high, showing off her knobby knees, and the glittery wings hung too tight on her shoulder blades, bunching the dress together in odd ways around the top.

"Yeah?" Lydia asked, trying not to seem impatient to watch Claire's upcoming humiliation.

"Is this… did you plan this?"

"Yeah," Lydia smiled with twisted glee, turning back to the haunted house.

"This is so wrong," Prudence muttered softly. Lydia turned back, the petite girl was tucked in behind Bertha, in a Lady Liberty costume that only accentuated her smaller than average stature. Lydia wasn't sure when Prudence had shown up, actually she was probably there the whole time and Lydia just hadn't paid enough attention to notice it.

"Wrong? Claire totally deserves this," Lydia brushed off the comment with a flash of anger as she turned back towards the maze. What did Prudence know anyway? She couldn't possibly understand the scope of Clare's cruelty. She couldn't have seen Clare torturing girls like Bertha for their looks, she could have been the pawn in one of Clare's stupid plans. Lydia felt pale, Prudence was wrong, she had to be wrong, Clare had to be punished.

"You used me," Prudence said softly, and Lydia breathed a sigh of relief, before she glanced back and saw Prudence's eyes trained to her. "Was this all that befriending me was about? The sleepover? Was it all part of some prank you were playing on Clare?"

"What?" Lydia blinked in shock, then tried to recover, "No, it was…" she couldn't finish that sentence.

"It's fine," Prudence shrugged, "I should've known guessed before, you and Clare both have the same smile." Slowly, sadly, Prudence turned away.

"I'm sure she didn't mean that," Bertha said quickly, "you're smile is totally different." Bertha glanced bewildered between the two of them before she went running after Prudence.

Lydia felt sick. Bertha was a terrible liar. If her smile looked like Clare's, then it looked like Betelgeuse's, and like the gunman that had exorcised Barbara and Adam.

Claire stumbled out of the haunted house into the crowd of onlookers. It wasn't long before someone had pointed out that Claire had actually wet herself in the process. Lots of kids were laughing. Tears were rolling down the prep's face smearing her mascara, as she dashed from the room, humiliated and scared. Even if the girl managed to recover her dignity and act like a queen bee she would never have a following.

Lydia was shaking. What had she been doing the past few days? She'd saved Bertha, in order to mess with Clare. Bertha wanted to be friends, and Lydia had kept her around as an extra pair of hands. Prudence, there she'd been the one to try and make friends, because knowledge was power, and befriending Prudence was taking Clare's. She summoned Betelgeuse for crying out loud; not to help anyone, but as revenge for some pain Clare had inflicted on her in elementary school.

The crowds quickly dispersed, as if nothing had happened. Lydia was afraid. Afraid of herself; she'd realized she wasn't planning on putting Betelgeuse back that night. She was just going to tell him to go screw around in China or something and not bug her. With a gasp, she burst out of the gym, towards the running track. Where was Betelgeuse? She had to put him back before he caused more damage.

"Hey babes," his gravelly voice came from behind her. The ghost was leaning against a tree smoking, "I'm not going anywhere 'til you tell me," he said it so casually.

The knot that had grown in Lydia's chest finally unbuckled and she collapsed onto the ground in tears. A week ago she'd have thought she didn't have any tears left.

Betelgeuse was rigid. Lydia was crying, again. Fuck he hated it when she cried. It made him want to hurt something. He also suspected that something was him. Lydia's hands came away from her face as she wailed, and Betelgeuse was all the more screwed. Stupid crying girl, making him feel all fucking fraternal, when he couldn't even touch her. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

"Dammit Lydia, you're crying my ears off," he said, and his ears literally fell to the ground. "See?" Even though his ears were detached he could still hear through them, and her heard Lydia sniff slightly, but stop crying. "Babes, I've got enough juice to create a life size replica of Venice where the water's made of jam and the streets are made with peanut butter, so what d'ya say to a ride in a toast gondala?"

"Can you make everyone forget this happened?" Lydia asked almost too quietly to hear.

"This… you want them all to forget that epic prank we just pulled?"

Lydia nodded.

"Everyone?"

"Yes," Lydia snapped slightly, then curled up in shame, "please, Prudence was right, this was a mistake, I want to pretend it never happened."

Betelgeuse blinked, when was the last time anyone asked him to do anything with a "please" attached to it, and what did Prudence have to do with anything. "One twenty-minute memory wipe, no prob," Betelgeuse stalked back towards the party.

Betelgeuse stepped through wall, and watched a half dozen kids shiver from the change in temperature. Lydia was approximately twelve yards away, he didn't bother keeping himself subtle. Kids kept turning and staring as he stalked across the room. Prudence and Bertha were at the snack table and he wanted an explanation before turning their brains into oatmeal.

"Excuse me sir, but may I ask what you're doing here?" Betelgeuse was stopped by Miss Shannon.

"In a couple minutes you won't remember I was here," Betelgeuse glared. But fuck, that was the whole reason he could let lose. "Sure, I'm just here to talk to a couple  _friends_  of my girl Lydia, but there's something I'd like you to know before that. Stop letting a couple pre-pubescent culottes, fuck around with the day of the dead. I don't particularly like it," Betelgeuse let his eyes glow slightly with rage. Miss Shannon gasped in fear, paralyzed as the ghost pushed past.

"What did you say to Lydia?" Betelgeuse's voice was cold as he stopped by Prudence and Bertha, eyes still glistening.

"Who-who are you?" Bertha asked shakily.

"Answer the damn question," Betelgeuse bent down to Prudence's eye level. Bertha stepped in the path of Betelgeuse's glare and forced the ghost up with a growl.

"Prudence said that Lydia has used her to hurt Clare, and that Lydia was acting like Clare."

Betelgeuse snorted, that sounded about right, and it sounded like the kind of thing Lydia would be upset about too. "When you call a friend on something like that you don't leave them behind," Betelgeuse hissed. Then with a snap of his fingers he let his juice wash over the room, quickly turning invisible before anyone regained their senses.

Clare, of course, was not in the room. It didn't take long for Betelgeuse to latch onto her living aura, as pathetic wimpy as it was and follow her trail to an abandoned corner of the school. She was frantically messing around with her cellphone, too shaky to properly press 9-1-1. Good thing too, because he didn't want to deal with more cops right now. "Hey stupid," he called and watched her eyes widen in fear as she dropped her phone. "If you want to mess with Lydia you go right ahead, because you know what, she can take it. From now on, I've got Lydia's back, and I'll hold her back until she's strong enough to hold me back. So she's not the one you should be worrying about, get me?"

Clare whimpered, she probably didn't but whatever, with a snap of his fingers, she was in a forgetful daze, and cleaned up.

Betelgeuse stepped back out into the field. Lydia was still curled up in an abject ball, but she wasn't crying. "All done, do you wanna forget about it to?"

"No, no, I can't forget, I'd mess it up again if I did."

"There's this thing about the spells of the dead, we can change a lot, but not life, not legally anyway. No one will remember the event, but if something about it really changed, if  _you_  really changed, then you'll remain changed."

"It's alright, I just, don't know what came over me."

Betelgeuse did. It's what happened to people that lost their moral centre and were faced with hardship. He'd been through it, twice. His moral centres were his little brother and Juno, stupid as that was, for Lydia, right now, her moral centre was the Maitlands. "I'll get them out for you?"

"What?" Lydia looked up at him in confusion and Betelgeuse was compelled to look away.

"The Maitlands… I'll get them out of the lost souls room," he'd already wanted to, nearly got himself exorcised to do it to. "Not sure how just yet, but I'll bring them back… promise."

**[Chapter Six: End]**


End file.
